


Batter My Heart

by amarriageoftrueminds



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, PWP, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarriageoftrueminds/pseuds/amarriageoftrueminds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal/Will, Hannibal tricks Will into talking dirty. </p><p>Will has trouble switching off. Hannibal doesn’t mind, and encourages Will to continue their conversations about serial killers while they’re having sex. About one serial killer in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Batter My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Abbatti Il Mio Cuore (Batter My Heart)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447268) by [DevinCarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinCarnes/pseuds/DevinCarnes)



> Inspired by that scene in _Potage_ where Hannibal walks in on Will rhapsodising about the Copycat's 'art' and basically looks incredibly turned on.    
>  ****  
> 
> 
>   
>  **Though use make you apt to kill me,**   
>  **Let not to that, self-murder added be,**   
>  **And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.**   
> 

 

 

 

 

The sun was coming up.  

 

The pale grainy light of it flooded in, bounced off the wooden floorboards and stabbed fingers of pain into his eyes, already prickling with red-hot needles of exhaustion.

His head was swimming. 

 

Normally he’d have shut the drapes before getting into bed, but with Hannibal there he had forgotten. 

So now, as he repeated his morning routine ( _lay on back, stare listlessly into space, contemplate death_ ) there was enough light that he could actually see the cracks in the ceiling, hanging vertiginous above. 

 

Beside him, on the window-side of the bed, Hannibal inhaled through his nose – a great, sleepy breath, ponderous as a great blue whale breaching the surface – and turned over to face him.

Will could feel those deep fathomless eyes on his face. 

In his peripheral vision he watched Hannibal prop his head up on one fist, denting the old feather pillow. There was a smoke of gray hair across his tanned chest, and it flexed and bowed as he shifted position; utterly relaxed, utterly masculine. His voice made a deep humming note, low in his throat – it was a signal, announcing his intention to speak.  

“Trouble sleeping, Will? ”

 

His accent had curled and thickened from drowsiness, his voice a rumbling murmur. 

 

Suddenly self-conscious, Will ducked his chin and regarded his fingers, laced across his naked belly. He cracked a wry crooked grin to cover his embarrassment; grimacing at the heat of shame on his left cheek, on Hannibal’s side.  _God I hate myself_.

 “Sorry. ” He enunciated his words clearly so that he could pour self-loathing scorn into every syllable. “I guess I have a habit of _bringing the work home_. ”

 

“No need to apologize. ” Hannibal made it sound so simple, so artless, the way his accent lisped babyishly. “It’s in the nature of the work you do… It- _corrodes._ ”

 

Will quirked an eyebrow at that wording, blinking rapidly. In his skepticism, he found the guts to turn and look at the man beside him, accidentally slipped back into their cover-persona. 

“Do you think I’m ' _crumbling,_ ' Doctor Lecter? ”

 

Hannibal’s gaze on him was warm and steady; his eyes hooded, considering.

He twisted his head, half nod, half shrug, lips pouting. “If not now, then you very soon will be, ” he said. And he _did_ look concerned. “If Jack Crawford keeps pushing you- ”

 

Will dismissed _that_ by turning his whole body away, now on his side with his back to Hannibal, his unshaved cheek rubbing up against the pillow. 

“Jack Crawford is not the problem… ” He said stonily, loud enough to make sure Hannibal heard.

 

Behind him the rasp of skin on sheets sounded as Hannibal pulled himself over and fit himself neatly against Will’s back, an affectionate solicitation, slipped his thin lips onto the patch of delicate velvet skin right behind Will's ear.

Will could feel his hot breath shivering down his neck, a waft of his scent; had to close his eyes as Hannibal whispered in his ear.

 

“Then what’s keeping you up? ”

 

Will sighed, deeply; they had wound up right where he hadn’t wanted to go. “…It’s the Ripper. ”

 

Silence.

 

Hannibal had gone very still.

 

Will held his breath.

For a moment he thought he was going to let it drop – repulsed, perhaps, that he would bring up something like this when they were lying in bed together – but then one of Hannibal’s hands sailed into his field of vision, crept smoothly over the back of his hand and slotted his thick fingers into the grooves between Will’s slim knuckles.

The hot breath whispered in his ear again and then, with great care and delicacy, Hannibal said:

“Tell me about him… ” 

 

Will frowned. 

He turned back, twisted right around till the tendons of his neck were straining, to look Hannibal full in the face; see if he was kidding. 

He felt the familiar jolt of surprise as Hannibal’s eyes met his, this close – penetrating him as thoroughly and intimately as his tongue – and was, not for the first time, _shocked_ by Hannibal’s beauty.

His face had that carved and ancient quality of a piece of Grecian pottery; every tiny flaw and blemish, every fine papery crease, added to the patina - what should have made him more ugly, instead only made him more beautiful.

And now the cold light of dawn had deepened to a golden warmth which fell on him like honey; sparkled in his deep, wise eyes, painted in harsh, pin-sharp detail every furrow, every thin line of crow’s-feet and every glint of stubble. It lit up the rounded shape of his shoulders and chest, the twin curves of his bicep and forearm, crooked beneath his head, and turned the silky skein of his hair to a streak of silver fire across the pillow.

 

When he spoke it was like watching the face of a mountain come alive.

 

“Will… talk to me about the Ripper. ”

 

His hand was stroking fondly across Will's chest as he spoke (Hannibal liked the smooth skin there, Will knew).

 

Uninhibited, unflinching.  So it wasn’t a joke.

 

Slowly, Will closed his eyes. A wave of relief ebbed over him gradually, like lying in the shallows of a sun-warmed beach; already he could feel himself relaxing, sinking deeper into the mattress. With an irritable grimace he threw off the after-image of the room, still swimming in the darkness behind his eyes, cast it away from himself like a buzzing insect and

**the pendulum swings**

concentrated on…

 

**Antlers?**

 

**Pale as bone.**

 

**The stench of death.**

 

**Open sky.**

 

 **(** _Why?_ **)**

 

**The feathers of the raven.**

 

Far away, he thinks he hears Hannibal’s voice echo. 

 

**“Will…? ”**

 

With a monumental effort he dredges up the part of his brain that still remembers speech, drags up words from the pit, and so begins…

 

“Everything he does is…

 

_Graceful…_

 

_Poised..._

 

Every tiny little decision he makes has an… Elegance to it...

 

An _Artistry…_ ”

 

Will is aware of a tingling sensation in his gut and realises Hannibal’s hand has shifted and is tracing little circles across the muscles of his stomach, teasing aside the fine dark hairs that trail down to his groin…

 

Was it that low before?

 

**“Go on… ”**

 

“He’s an artist…

 

No…

 

He’s more than that.

 

He’s… ”

 

Will falters. There aren’t the words.

 

Hannibal’s ghostly voice sounds, gently persistent:   **“A Master? ”**

 

“ _Yes…_

 

A virtuoso…

 

There is a… _theatricality,_ to his cruelty…

 

A true _devotion_ to his craft.

 

He wants to elevate everything he touches, to make it- perfect… sublime…

 

there is nothing counterfeit about his sadism.

 

Not like- ”

 

He can feel the shadow of some thought moving closer. Something that flutters past him, a black wing-tip flashing out of sight.

 

Will wants to turn and look at it, ( _if he could just turn and **see**_ ) _,_ but the warm weight of Hannibal’s hand has slithered down beneath the sheets, slid between his legs- he can feel the scalding heat, the pounding throb -has wrapped strong, dexterous fingers around the shaft of Will’s dick and is teasing at the sensitive skin. Up and down.

 

Will shudders.

 

The thing- the Thought-Shape thing- has gone. He’s missed it. It’s as if a hot wind is blowing through his mind and suddenly Will wants to _rut_ , wants to climb on top of Hannibal and fuck. 

 

He does. 

He turns, over the bed, sheets ridged and creased against his side. Under his palm he feels the hard edge of the tube of lube as he pushes himself up and across, on top of Hannibal, is now sitting, straddling him, the dimples of the mattress stinging his knees, feeling dizzy as he catches his balance on the unsteady surface, steadies himself with a hand on Hannibal’s broad firm chest, fingers carded through the wiry gray hair.

 

There is- 

 _yes_  

 _-heat_ from Hannibal’s cock, too, probing up between Will’s cheeks. He can feel the damp tip of it rising, the tickle of Hannibal’s pubes on the underside of his balls as they come to rest on either side of that hardening shape. His eyes, still shut, are rolling in bliss, his eyelids lightly flickering. Dreamily, he eases his head back and feels the cold air of the room shivering across his nipples, suddenly hard. Hannibal is rubbing them, a warm, solicitous hand down his chest. Hannibal _loves_ his chest.

 

He is blindly grinding, hunting for friction.

 

Dimly aware of Hannibal’s voice, again; feels the deep vibration of it in his groin.

 

**“-the copycat? ”**

 

“Hmm? ”

 

 **“You mentioned the copycat, Will. ”** Hannibal repeats, more firmly, clearly. **“The one who killed that girl in the field... Tell me about him... ”**

 

“He…

 

He… ”

 

**“You said that crime-scene was gift-wrapped? ”**

 

“ _Yess_ … It- it was for me… ”

 

Will startles at a plastic popping sound, utterly jarring; he opens his eyes in shock and sees that it is Hannibal, flicking open the cap of the lube with his free hand. Hannibal glances at him impassively, eyebrow raised, to see what had interrupted his flow, and for one horrifying moment Will doesn't recognize him- 

 

What had he been saying…? It felt important. 

 

“Go on… you were talking about that crime-scene in Minnesota. ”

 

“It was… it was all for me… ”

 

 **“For you? ”** Hannibal’s voice is closer, now; he has sat up and is murmuring right into the hollow of Will’s throat. 

 

Will goes on, but his voice is shaking now. He is half in this world, half in the next.

 

Frowning, upset.

 

“… His kills...? To him, they’re not _corpses._ " He shakes his head. “ They're… _installations_. ”

 

His eyes are staring wildly into space.

 

**“He leaves you pieces of art? ”**

 

“Yes... I think he wanted me to… _see_ him. ”

 

Hannibal’s hands are roving; Will can feel a pair of fingers, wet with lubricant, leaving a silver trail across his ass, slipping down to open him up. He _wants_ to be opened up. He wants it so badly.

 

**“Why, Will? ”**

 

“Because… ” It’s so had to concentrate with Hannibal doing that “…Because I’m the only one who _can_. Nobody else can see what he really is. To them, it’s like he’s invisible. It’s like he’s- ” He breaks off with a hiss; Hannibal has just eased the head of his dick inside.

 

**“Like he’s what, Will? ”**

 

“Like he’s- _Mozart_ … but all anyone else can see is Salieri. He- he feels like- like he just painted the _Mona Lisa_ and no one paid any _attention-_ ”

 

**“Except for you… ”**

 

They have begun a slow, steady movement, easing Will into it, and Hannibal's questions start up again, light and disinterested. 

 

**“Do you feel you know him? ”**

 

“I do. ”

 

**“As if there were a part of you in him…? ”**

 

(Will can only nod)

 

**“…and a part of him inside you? ”**

 

Hannibal shifts and it pushes his cock up even further, deeper. Will gasps and hisses through his teeth. “ _Yes! ”_

 

**“Say it. ”**

 

“He’s- he’s inside me… ”

 

**“And you like that? ”**

 

He swallows. Nods - shakily, shyly.

 

**“And how does it feel? Knowing he’s inside you? ”**

 

“It feels… ” Will is riding him, now; glowing, fevered, distracted; clumsy fingers pulling at his slackened lips. He wraps his arms around himself and rocks back and forth as if gripped by religious mania.

 

**“ _Will._ ”**

 

Hannibal’s voice is suddenly ringing, authoritative.

 

_**“Tell me how it feels. ”** _

 

“Good! It feels good!” It’s a cry, a half-broken shout of ecstasy, ripping his throat; he can feel the pleasure building, he can feel it in his _toes_.

 

“It feels so good, it- Doctor Lecter- ”

 

But Hannibal is not letting him stop, is watching his face closely, riveted by his eyes, coaxing him along like a teacher with his favourite pupil. He has one hand on Will's cock and the other on his soaking thigh and is rolling his hips up, pushing deeper inside him, balls deep, thrusting and teasing and punishing him, a reward for every correct answer. And Will wants to be good… he wants to be a good boy...

 

**“It feels good to be him? ”**

 

Will’s nostrils flare. He is horrified by the answer rising in a whisper on his lips. “ _Yes…_ ”

 

**“You admire him?**

 

**You think he’s good at what he does…?**

 

**_Will !_ ”**

 

“Yes! He’s… he’s good….he’s so good- ” there are fierce tears in his eyes; horror and love mingling. He wonders if he looks as he hurt as he feels. “ _Oh God- he makes me feel so good-_ ”

 

Will has perhaps one split second of rocketing panic before pleasure explodes in his body; pounds along his limbs like wildfire. All sight, sense and sound depart, obliterated. He is falling; Hannibal’s voice is calling to him in the distance but he can’t answer. He is on the antlers of the stag. His skull is flying apart.

 

 

 

**

 

**“Will…? ”**

 

The sun was up. 

Will awoke to the heat of it on his back, exposed to the waist above the covers. His pillow was balled up under his head, punched into submission as it usually was when he slept alone, only he rarely slept _naked_ when he was alone. 

 

He scowled as he came awake, a childish frown creasing his forehead beneath his bangs.  

 

Struggled to remember. 

 

There was something important.

 

Something about…

 

**“Good morning, Will. ”**

 

…birds?

 

_Did I black out?_

 

Hannibal was standing there, fully-dressed, shrugging into his brown jacket; clearly getting ready to leave. 

Will met his eyes briefly; more guarded and wary now, aware that he was blinking slowly and stupidly, still half asleep. 

He swallowed before speaking; had to force spit to quicken in his mouth, to flow over his furred tongue. He was hoarse from shouting.

 

“Guess you’re done with me for today, huh Doctor... ” He managed to croak; a twisted smile; half-bitter, half-sad, as caustic as ever.

 

Hannibal’s hooded eyes seemed to dim for a moment, but then he was ducking his head modestly to the side, all bashful diffidence, and Will thought he must have imagined it. 

A smile, gentle as summer rain, subtle and complex as the shifting patterns of cloud-shadow over a rolling landscape, and he loomed over the bed, fondly brushing back the clump of sweat-dewed curls which shadowed Will’s eyes. 

 

“Will...”   he said, as he planted a kiss to his dampened forehead.   **“I’ll never be done with you… ”**

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>  title and epigraph from two John Donne poems, in reference to the three people in this fucked-up relationship: Hannibal, Will, and the Chesapeake Ripper.  
>   
> ( ** _Batter My Heart_** has the worshipper begging his _"three person'd God"_ to overthrow him, for he _"never shall be free, / Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me."_ Whereas **_The Flea_** is a poem about a man trying to persuade a woman to sleep with him by pointing out that their blood is already mingled inside a flea so what's the big deal about mingling their other bodily fluids - which is _exactly_ the kind of sneaky, conniving bastard of an argument Hannibal _would_ use * _but of course in this scenario **Hannibal** is the parasite_* )  
>   
> *also, points to anyone who recognised the title for both the poem **and** the hilarious cannibalism-pun that it is*  
>   
> My FIRST THING EVER WRITTEN in this fandom so please be gentle with me.  
>   
>   
> [cross-posted to my tumblr](http://amarriageoftrueminds.tumblr.com/post/53891158741/thats-right-kids-its)  
>  **Thank yous go to:**  
> [ **13thDoctor**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/13thDoctor) [for the Ao3 invite that got me here - you have her to blame.]  
> and to [**ourthousandlives**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ourthousandlives) [who American'ted this for me - that's the opposite of Britpicking.]


End file.
